Hang In There, Kid
by Nahaliel
Summary: A case ends up taking a nasty turn when Neal's cover is blown and things go downhill from there for Neal and Peter-but mostly for Neal. Peter is there to pick up the pieces, and realizes just how much he actually cares about Neal. Set mid-season one.


After his head collided with the hard, cold concrete, everything was just a blur. They had already roughed him up quite a bit; his split lip was bleeding, his left eye swelling shut, his ribs screaming. And to top it all off, the glancing blow the concrete had dealt to the side of his head. The world had become a confusing and dizzying blend of colors, unidentified shapes and sounds, like the scrape of a boot too close to his ear. They kept kicking him in the ribs, in the back even as he lay on the sidewalk, too limp to even curl up and prevent more damage to important body parts. Neal had managed to roll over when a boot caught him across the face. His head snapped back and smacked into the pavement again with a sickening crack. He lay there reeling for a few seconds, then finally gave in to the darkness.

* * *

Peter was furious. _God dammit, Caffrey_, he cursed in his head over and over again as he sped down the vast, empty road. His cellphone rang, jolting him out of his inner raving.

"Burke." He growled into the reciever.

"P'ter?" Neal's voice. Peter had his angry tirade on the tip of his tongue, but the tone of Neal's voice stopped him short.

"Neal? What's going on?"

Peter could hear Neal panting on the other end of the line, his breathing shallow and labored.

"I... My cover was blown... 'm sorry... I- P'ter, I woke up by the side of the road..." Peter heard a muffled curse, then a cough.

"Neal." Peter spoke firmly, but concern kept his voice fairly gentle. "Are you hurt?"

Nothing but sharp pants came over the line.

"Neal, keep talking to me."

"I-I got a l'ttle rough'd up..." Neal's voice was starting to slur.

"Okay, bud. Listen to me. I want you to keep talking to me. Tell me where you are."

"'M walkin' s'mewhere... I-" Neal moaned softly.

"You're okay, Neal, keep talking."

"I d'n't know..."

"Tell me the last thing you remember before waking up."

The sharp panting on the other end of the line had turned into soft wheezing.

"Neal. Neal, buddy, talk to me."

Then Peter heard a clatter and a dull thud, like a body hitting the ground.

"Neal."

Silence. Panic gripped him.

"Neal!"

Peter pounded a fist on the steering wheel and cursed loudly. He hit the speed dial on his cell.

"Jones, get me Neal's location, _now._"

* * *

"Neal."

God, that voice was annoying.

"C'mon, Neal..."

There it was again. _Shut up_, Neal wanted to tell the voice, _'m sleepin'._..

And who the hell was shaking him like that?

"That's it, bud, open your eyes."

Neal's head lolled to the side as he finally came to. Peter let out a relieved sigh and sat back on his heels.

"P'ter? Wha-?" Neal croaked. His head was pounding, making him nauseous; his entire body ached. His chest felt leaden, his left arm and shoulder throbbing.

"Jesus christ-Neal Caffrey, don't you ever do that to me again." Peter grunted, scrubbing his face with his hands.

His heart still pounded from the adrenaline rush, the cold fear that had coursed through his veins when he had found Neal's inert and battered form at the side of the road. It had been a good thirty minutes since Neal had gone too quiet for comfort on the other end of the phone line.

Peter looked up when he heard Neal hiss in pain as he tried to sit up. Neal's head swam sickeningly but Peter was already pushing him back to the floor.

"No, stay down, Neal."

"P'ter, what happen'd?" Came Neal's voice, breathy and weak.

"Your arm is broken... Along with a couple bruised ribs (_most likely broken_, Peter thought) and one heck of a concussion..." _I hope to God there's no internal bleeding._ Peter decided to keep that fear to himself.

"'Knew that... Damn art forgers..." Neal gave a small laugh that morphed into a painful cough. "Ow..."

"Just stay still. How you holding up?" Peter gazed out towards the highway. No sign of the ambulance yet.

"'Feel like 'was hit by a truck..."

Peter studied Neal's broken form and felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't kept Neal safe...

"P'ter... I d'n't feel s'good..." Neal's voice trailed off and his eyes slid shut.

"Neal. Neal, Neal. Please, kid, just stay awake a little longer?" His pleading remained unheeded. Neal's pale face looked peaceful though. Too pale and too peaceful to Peter given the circumstances. Peter shot a worried glance down the deserted asphalt strip. Nothing.

Then the sound of sirens in the distance pierced the silence. Peter gently brushed an uruly brown lock out of Neal's closed eyes.

"Hang in there, kid."

* * *

He was just trying to get some rest. And every time he dozed off, it seemed, some repetitive, highly irritating noise came to disturb his slumber. This time it was a steady, unfamiliar beeping sound. Puzzled, Neal cracked his eyes. Blinding white light filtered through his half-open lids, causing his head to spin. He squeezed his eyes shut for a good thirty seconds then tried again. This time, the light didn't hurt as much and his surroundings gradually sharpened around the edges. Hospital. That explained the white. White everything. Neal wrinkled his nose in disgust at the strong antiseptic smell.  
He ventured turning his head ever so slightly, found it didn't hurt so much, and turned it until he caught sight of where Peter sat by him, lost in thought as he stared out the window.

"Quit thinkin' so loud, P'ter, you're hurtin' my ears..." Neal croaked in a voice that sounded strange, hoarse.

"Neal!" Peter whirled around. "I'm so glad you're okay-" then in the space of about a half of a second, Peter's tired smile turned to anger (or fear?) as he launched into a tirade: "Neal Caffrey, what the hell did I tell you about orders? Follow them! I told you to back down, get the hell out while you could! And what did you do? Chivalrous Neal Caffrey felt the need to go running after them-even when you knew it would blow your cover!" Peter was talking too fast, way too fast. Neal felt sleep tugging at him. A groan escaped his lips.

"Neal?" Peter's voice. This time tinged with concern.

A sigh.

"Sorry, kid. I just... I-I'm glad you're okay. Get some rest. I'll be here if you need me."

Neal felt Peter's hand gently squeeze his before blissful darkness claimed him once again.

* * *

THE END


End file.
